


Wrecked | A Kindness | Cherish

by imperfectkreis



Series: Jill [2]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Fingering, F/M, Femdom, Genderplay, Mental Instability, Oral Sex, Pegging, Poor Life Choices, Size Difference, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3382811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Female Courier meets Keene. Female Courier fucks Keene. Big, scary nightkin aren't so big and scary on their hands and knees. Now in three parts. First two are mostly just sex scenes, third contains something like a plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wrecked

She’s knows he’s watching her. That his eyes follow her from room to room as Marcus shows her Jacobstown like the gracious host he is. It could be her admirer thinks he is more subtle than he really is. Doesn’t bother her, though, she’s used to being watched.

After she’s finished with Marcus, it’s onto Doctor Henry, who feeds her a lot of bull about stealth-boys and nightstalkers. She’s never liked doctors. But like a good girl she waits, chews her gum, tries not to smack it too loud against her tongue. Maybe she’ll run his errands, maybe not. More than anything she just wanted to make contact. Maybe see why Arcade brought this guy up when there was no reason to.

The gum goes stale in her mouth before too long. She tosses it. Smokes a cigarette outside instead so she’s doing something with her mouth. From here she can still make out the skyline of the Strip. Only because it’s elevated and the sky is real clear. Already it feels more like home than anywhere else she’s ever been. She aches to go back. That feeling might not last, but right now it’s heavy in her chest.

He’s still watching her. His footfall is heavy and he’s far too large. Everything else moves around him despite how carefully he steps. But she can’t bring herself to fear him. Doesn’t know much about super mutants. Hell, a few months ago it could be said she didn’t know much about anything. Knows he’s a nightkin and not all of them are nightkin. That might mean he’s a little unhinged.

“You smoke?” She holds out her pack of cigarettes, waiting for him to respond. Got hands as big as her fucking head so she’s not sure he could get one out of the package, let alone light it. So in a gesture of, well, something, she takes out one stick and holds that out instead. The paper of it looks particularly white against her painted nails.

“The doctor wants you to help with his experiments.” His voice isn’t pleasant, that’s for sure. 

Jill sort of hates that she made the offer of friendship now because she’s not sure she wants to hear him talk. Makes her teeth hurt. But she’s supposed to be all hospitality now that she’s the Courier so she gives it another go.

“Yeah, said the stealth-boys are wrecking you.” She puts out her cigarette against the wood planks of the lodge before lighting the one he didn’t take. Somewhere she read they’re supposed to calm nerves. Somewhere else she said they make people all wired. All she knows is she likes the taste of the smoke. Has since she was twelve or so.

“They do not ‘wreck’ us, they make us more than we are. Better than the likes of Marcus. He thinks about moderation. But that is not in our nature.”

At that she laughs, so full and thick the mutant takes a step back. “You don’t have a nature. Aren’t you all abominations? Science projects from the start? Shit. If I were you I’d spend all my time getting fucked up too.” She grabs at the red scarf around his neck and tugs it. 

His giant hand comes up and bats her smaller one away. Bares his teeth like he’s some great big blue beast. Maybe he thinks he is, but these were people once. And people don’t scare Jill. People are the scariest fucking things on the planet. Fuck, people fucked up this planet so bad they made shit like this mutant and she still isn’t afraid.

When she just smiles and grabs at his scarf again he goes so wide-eyed and weird she’s already making plans to do it again. He obviously hates it. Dances right up to the edge of snapping on her, but he hasn’t done it yet.

“Don’t you know what I am, what I could do to you? Little girl?” That horrid voice again in her ears. 

She hasn’t been a girl for a good many years. Supposedly none of the mutants have been men all that recently either. 

“You could try. But I don’t think you’d get very far.” Tossing her cigarette in the dirt, she leaves the odd mutant behind.

\--

He thinks he’s subtle, like he knows how to not be seen. But if he really knew, he wouldn’t need those stealth-boys he’s jonesing for. Because he’s not as good as he thinks, she hears the door creak open, the sound of his heavy feet on the floorboards. She’s got a pistol under her pillow, but even if she didn’t, she’d be just fine. Big thing like that isn’t worth getting scared over.

Keeps her breath slow and even. Tries to trick him into thinking she’s asleep. But it’s not necessary because he kneels by her bedside. Puts his hands on his thighs. Just stares. In silence he watches her. Odd thing, he is. 

Next to her bed, even knelt down, he’s huge. Massive chest and arms almost as big as Jill’s waist. Bald headed, exposed teeth, and breathing like a Brahmin after a marathon. Vile, and she’s vile for thinking about it. Thinking about what those hands the size of dinner plates would look like curled in the sheets of this starch-white bed she sleeps in. 

His eyes are on her, intent, unblinking. What is it he’s trying to accomplish? Like she could claim to speak for another. Cracking one eye open, then the other, she gazes back. When he’s seen, rather, when he knows he’s seen, he falters. Sits back on his heels and looks like he might bolt. Instead he stays rooted in place. She reaches forward and tugs at his scarf. 

“Why are you here?” 

“You are very odd,” he replies.

She want to laugh. Her? But she keeps it bottled up so she doesn’t wake the whole building. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she keeps the blankets thrown over herself for now. No use getting cold. One foot dangles just to the side of each of his thighs until she’s stepping on his hands. She’s not standing, so there is little pressure. The mutant doesn’t react, just stares on ahead.

“What’s your name?” While she waits on his answer, she trails her foot up his chest, feeling her sole rub against the expanse of over-developed muscle. His muscles twitch as she passes over the skin, leathery but so warm, like nothing she’s felt before. Finally he calve comes to rest on his shoulder. Her second leg repeats the process. Still, he has not moved

“Keene.”

“So tell me, Keene,” she scoots forward, so that her groin sits just at the edge of the bed. Pulls the blanket away until she’s just in her tank top and underwear. Her legs wrap around his shoulders. Even in the darkness she can see his nostrils flare at the scent of her. He’s so tall that he would still have to dip his head down to lick her. Little doubt that he will. “Why are you here?”

“You.”

“Of course,” gently she rubs her hand over his scalp. He leans into the touch. Has to be so obvious about everything. So very bad at hiding. 

She puts her hand between her legs, pulling her underwear aside before parting her folds. Should take them off entirely but the heat of his body against her bare legs is so delicious she doesn’t want to part with it. With her other hand she grabs the back of his head and pulls him forward, until those teeth scrape against her.

“Careful, careful,” she purrs. “Do you remember how to do this?” Her hips roll against his face, “Remember how to make a woman cum?”

There’s a muffled sound against her. He goes to work, tongue sliding along her folds, against her clit. Like everything else about him, it’s massive. None of the delicate touch she prefers, but it will get the job done. She moves her own hand away. Instead she paws at her own breast through the thin fabric of her tank. Works herself until her nipples are hard.

Jill lets her head fall back against the mattress. Her hands keep Keene in his place, pressed against her. She suspects she doesn’t have to hold him there, the way he licks against her like he’s been desperate for this for years. Like he needs her wet against his face in order to live. He’s got no hair to pull on, so she reaches further until she’s got hold of his scarf, pulls on that instead and orgasms in lush waves with his head between her thighs. 

When she lets go of his head he only pulls back a fraction of an inch. Still can feel his breath hot against her. The rhythm of his hand on his own cock is plain enough. He smells her while he beats himself. Instead she hatches other plans. 

“Get on your hands and knees. Face away from me.”

Hesitating, Keene does not move.

“Now,” she commands. If he does not listen, she’ll simply stop this.

On the second try he seems to understand and does as he’s told. There’s a thin rug between his knees and the floorboards, but she can’t imagine he needs the comfort of it. Standing behind him, she doesn’t think he looks so big like this. Sure, his shoulders are broad and he’s all defined muscle everywhere. It borders on grotesque. As he strains to not touch himself she can see the roll of tendons under his skin. 

“Good. You look good. Undress yourself, then back in this position.”

He does not speak. But his heavy breathing fills the room. The air is hotter now than when Jill went to bed. It smells like her, a little like cigarettes too, and Keene. Something hypermasculine she’s not used to having in her nose. 

While he works to strip himself, she rifles through her pack looking for something, anything that will work. She wants to fuck him, to make him beg. And she’s pretty sure in the state he’s currently in, he’ll let her do it. 

There’s a bottle of oil in her pack. She’s been using it to rub into her hair in a vain attempt to make it appear less dry than it actually is. Since it hasn’t worked on her hair, maybe it’ll work on Keene’s ass.

He’s listened well, stripped until he was naked and arranged himself on all fours for her. Breathing so hard she can hear, see, feel it. 

She stands over him. Uncorking the bottle, she doesn’t bother to warm the oil. Doesn’t know if he can tell the difference through the thick of his skin. She lets it pour along the curve of his ass. Some splashes away from its intended target but the waste is worth it from the way he hisses, the way his thighs tighten and he jerks away. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared? I’m just a little girl.” She pours most of the remainder on her hand. Rubs both of her hands together until it’s well distributed. 

At first he doesn’t respond. Just inhales sharply as she traces her index finger against his hole. Doesn’t push inside yet. Waits for him to answer. 

“You are many things, Little Girl.”

She stabs into him with one manicured finger. Can’t believe it feels like much on someone so huge. But it might feel of embarrassment, getting finger-fucked, willingly, by someone a third of his size. Her finger sinks all the way in on one go and he clamps around her. Never had that happen before. Normally it’s a bunch of cooing and soft murmurs and ‘good boys’ before she can get to the second knuckle. But then again, none of them were this fucking big.

“I think you like this, Keene.” She pulls the one finger back out, slides a second in. Slaps his ass with her free hand on the downstroke. Doesn’t move a millimeter, there’s no fat to him. Everything about him is odd, this amplification, a perversion of ‘man.’ “I think you like being on your hands and knees, with my fat cock up your ass.”

He grunts, but grunts aren’t good enough. She wants to make him scream. Wants the whole Mojave to see him like a slut for her. 

“Do you like taking this Little Girl’s big cock?” Leaning over his body she still can’t reach his ear. Does like a good boy and groans for her though. Little hitching breaths as she spreads him, scissoring her fingers apart until the stretch is enough. “Tell me how you feel, Keene.”

“Not enough.”

“Yeah,” another finger. “You are pretty loose. Must take lots of cocks up your pretty hole? Don’t worry though, I’ll wreck you good.”

For the fourth she doesn’t wait. Slides it in before she thinks he’s ready for it. Finally she comes up against familiar resistance. Hissing against the carpet, he bucks back against her, nearly throwing her off.

“Good,” he whines, “so good.”

“What’s good?” She increases her pace. It’s not something she can keep up for long. As delicious as he looks, her arm will get tired at this rate. He just swallows up so much of her at once. Unreal. 

“Your cock,” the words are a choked whisper.

“Louder, baby. More.”

“Your cock in my ass, Little Girl.”

She smirks and kisses along his lower spine. It’s all she can reach. Licks at that last vertebra. Such a pretty picture they must make. The big scary nightkin with a woman on his back, most of her hand sinking inside him. Makes her wish for a functional camera. Real scrapbook material here.

“You going to come for me? Why don’t you rub your little clit, Keene?”

His hands fly to his cock so fast he forgets he’s supposed to support his own weight. They both topple forward until he braces himself on his elbow. He jerks himself so rapidly that she’s lost some of the control she had. More than anything else he thrusts back onto her than her thrusting into him. It’s hot as hell and she’ll be touching herself to this mental image for weeks.

“Please, please let me come.”

“Louder, Keene.”

He’ll listen, because he just wants to be good for her.

“Please let me come!” He roars.

She never said he couldn’t, but she likes his voice asking permission all the same. With all his eagerness, she wonders what kind of man he was before. 

“Come, baby.”

His cries are so loud she’s sure now they’ve woken up the whole settlement. Guttural and primal and so masculine she can barely stand it. Panting fills the room. Other than that they are both silent. She pulls out of him slowly and rubs her sore wrist. For a long time he doesn’t move. Between his legs she can see his cock softening and the pool of cum beneath him. Almost asks him to lick it up, but she’s tired. And curious.

“Keene,” she lets her head rest against the edge of the mattress. The fibers of the rug are coarse against her bare thighs. “Who were you, before you were this?”

“Stop looking at me.”

So she does.


	2. A Kindness

She asks Dr. Henry about Lily's medication doses. Shuffles her feet because he won't let her smoke inside. That still leaves her with nothing to do with her fingers. So she tugs at her hair, plays with the cigarette packet. Six sticks left, just enough to get her through until she returns to the Strip. Doesn't miss the way Dr. Henry glares about it. His equipment is expensive and it's hard enough keeping the dust out, doesn't want to fight the smoke too. Seeps in through the cracks in the windows they've got no replacements for. He mentions Marcus is looking to hire someone about it, if she’s interested. 

Maybe she should listen better, but while she wants to help Lily, she's still not sure she can. Doesn't think Dr. Henry can help either. Might be kinder to leave her be at Jacobstown. Sure, she's useful, crashes through raiders like a fucking truck, but that doesn't make it right, forcing her to fight when she can barely tell what way round she's facing. Calls her Jimmy though she keeps insisting her name is Jill. But then again, she calls Benny Jimmy too. And Cass. And Boone. Jill thinks she might start calling Boone Jimmy too, because he never takes it well.

After Dr. Henry shuts up she wants to shoot something. She always kind of wants to shoot something. Itches for it. One of her finer characteristics. Besides, she's got more bullets in her bag than cigarettes. 

Just at the edge of the settlement, facing the mountains, there's no one to bother her. No one but that nightkin who thinks he's all stealthy but really isn't. Jill knows it's the same one too, Keene, can smell him. That and the pattern of his clumsy feet against the dust. Only the six cigarettes, but she offers him one anyway, turning on her heel and offering the pack to the not-quite-visible void he fills against the setting sun. 

"Do you want one or not?"

When he doesn't respond she growls, takes one out and lights it herself. There's still gum in her mouth too but never let it be said that Jill couldn't walk, shoot, chew gum, and smoke at the same time. Lady of many talents, she is.

"I know you're there, Keene, no use hiding. Waste of a stealth boy."

"Not a waste." 

She'd nearly forgotten how much she dislikes his voice. Better off with something else in his mouth to keep quiet. 

"Let me see you already." 

"No." 

Shrugging dismissively, she turns back. Now she doesn't feel like shooting anymore. Waste.

"Why are you here?" She asks over her shoulder, like she can't guess the answer. Mutant or not, all men are the same. They know her like she knows them. Knew Keene all along despite the bravado and the size and the way he could crush her with one hand. But she still won't take him until he asks. Not like she needs him. Not the way he seems to need her. His fetish human. Doesn't mean he's her fetish mutant. Okay, maybe it does.

"I could ask you the same thing, Little Girl."

He's close, really close. She can feel the heat of his body against her back, through the cotton of her tee. Just short of touching her though. Like his warmth is ghosting over the backs of her arms, her hairs pricking up to reach him. Maybe he's afraid of 'Little Girl.'

"You smell like someone else," he observes.

Then he does touch her, but she doesn't flinch away. His big, thick fingers are in her hair, pulling it gently away from her scalp to better smell between the strands. Has to bend down to reach. A smirk touches the corners of her lips.

"Jealous?"

He grunts and grabs her around the waist, pressing her flat to his chest. Knocks the wind out of her. But she's not afraid. His erection presses against her back, warmer than the rest of him and jutting out obscenely. When she looks to her waist, where his arm should be, all she can make out is a shimmer in the dying light and the way her tee bunches up from the manner in which he holds her.

Rocking against her slowly, his voice comes from somewhere above. She looks up into the glimmer, but the remnants of sun hurt her eyes. 

"Yes," it's almost more a question then a statement. “I am.” 

She's pushed to the ground, face first in the dirt, her unfinished cigarette rolling away. Keene's weight is over her, but he's careful enough not to crush her. Guess flattened corpses aren't his fetish. His knees are between her thighs pushing them apart. The stealth-boy wears off and she can see his giant blue hand next to her face, supporting his weight so he doesn't hurt her. 

"What are you doing, Keene?" She growls.

His other hand bunches up her shirt to under her armpits, exposing the line of her back. Pebbles prick against her stomach. Lips and teeth scrape against skin, touching against each vertebra in sharp little punctuations. Tasting her, smelling her. Down to the waistband of her jeans where he licks and licks and licks at the small of her back. The scrape of his tongue is gonna give her a rash at this rate. Dust flies up her nose when she inhales. 

"Want to taste you," with his voice a whine like that it's a request, not a demand. 

"Alright," she wiggles her hips, "do it."

He's got to shuffle around to get her out of her jeans. Pulls them over the curve of her ass and halfway down her thighs. Like this his legs won't fit between hers but he's so massive that he manages to reach her from where he kneels closer to her ankles. Sticks his nose in her pussy, licks around her labia. Parts her folds with coarse fingers and laps. 

She presses her lacquered fingers into the dirt, gets under her nails. "Can you taste him, Keene?" She leaves the 'him' ambiguous because she can't imagine the mutant cares. Without his weight on top of her she can better arch her back to meet his mouth. "Taste his cock on me, in me?"

There's some sort of grunt from Keene, but she can't make it out. It was only this morning she fucked him, bouncing on his lap and screaming a storm, raking her nails down his back while he called her a hellcat, and she didn't have time to shower after. Even when Keene wasn't face-first in her he said he could smell someone else on her.

"Lick me clean you worthless little slut, get all his cum out." She grinds back onto him, nearly all the way up on her hands and knees now.

With that Keene increases his efforts, licks her from clit all the way up to her asshole. Feels lewd to be doing this out in the open, with the mountains and sky watching them, judging them. She likes it.

She spits out her gum, letting it fly as far as she can manage. Doesn't want to choke on it when she orgasms. Can already tell it's gonna be good.

"If you do a good job, I'll give you my cock after. Fuck your ass, Keene, you want to do a good job, don't you?"

He focuses on her clit, still too rough, not enough finesse. It's enough though as heat coils in her stomach. Can't expect much with a mouth that big really. At least he's enthusiastic.

When she comes, all twitches and spasms but not daring to let out a noise, he wraps his arm around her torso to hold her up. Keeps her from ending up face first in the dirt again. His other big hand rubbing against her bare back, trying to soothe her when she’s already fine. 

He arranges them so she's sitting in his lap. Once he sets his mind to something, she knows she can't physically stop him. It should scare her, but it doesn't. Because she still knows she's got more control than he does. Knows him, like he knows her. Even though this is only the second time they've met. She's not even sure he knows her name. The doctor must have said it, though. Keeps on calling her "Little Girl" though she's almost thirty. It's kind of flattering, maybe.

Her legs curl around his waist. She can still feel his cock hard in his pants. Except now it's against her naked groin because he's tossed her pants aside. She's got to wrestle control back but he keeps tweaking at her nipples, making them pebble in his hands. Stretching out her tee in the process instead of pulling it off. Pulling at his scarf she manipulates him best she can.

"I want to fuck you," she says, well before he can make the same request of her. He nods, but doesn't quit pawing at her breasts. They can't be that interesting. There's not much to them, really. Heard about a doctor that could make them bigger for the right amount of caps. Jill's been considering it. Once she doesn't have to be the Courier anymore, running around the desert doing errands, shooting things in the back in the service of a power grab she's barely interested in. 

"How do you want me?" The words spill so clear from his mouth she knows he's said them before. Probably in that life that isn't accessible to her. Might not be accessible to him either but he's not all muddled like Lily. He's still got his mind, just he's not telling her.

"On your back. So I can watch you cum with my cock in your ass," she purrs.

At the word "watch" he flinches. Doesn't say no. His hands come out from under her shirt and rub her arms instead. Makes her feel like a toothpick he could use between his teeth. 

"Don't like you looking at me."

"Why, Keene?" If he gives a straight answer, she'll do as he asks. But instead he flares his nostrils and shakes his head. She remembers he's ugly. Strange how she can manage to forget something that should be obvious. 

"Fine, do you want to stop? Or do you want something else?"

He considers it for a minute while she squirms in his lap. The spread of her legs makes her thighs ache. 

"Want to be in you."

"No," she snaps, "absolutely not." More than anything her response is a protective instinct. He's just too big. And she's got other machinations already in play. Ones that he could interrupt.

Instead he asks something else, "I want you to fuck me. But I don't want to see your eyes."

"Why, Keene?" One of her questions, she hopes, will be the right one. The one that will crack him open, spread his memories around like shards of glass she can prick herself on. Where she can understand this weird attraction she has. Because like this, in his lap with his arms around her waist, it's harder for her to brush off what she's doing. Touches up too close to feeling. Something. Anything.

Just a shake of the head from Keene. "Do it from behind, like before, so I can't see you."

"That what you want?" Running a finger along his lips, she slips it into his mouth when his lips part for her, then another. When he nods around it, she slides in one more. His tongue slicks between her digits, wet and sloppy. Could fit her whole fist in there, well, maybe, but she likes the feeling of it. Her three fingers in his mouth, a drop of saliva out the side. "Say yes if you mean it."

"Yes," it's only slightly muffled by her fingers.

"I want you to strip for me."

Putting his hands around her waist, he lifts her off and deposits her on the ground. Dust is getting into places it shouldn't be, so she sits on her bent legs to watch him. When he stands, he looks absolutely massive in front of her.

"Back up, want to see you better."

"I said don't watch," he reminds.

"Can you see my eyes from up there?" It's a genuine question. When he backs up, she figures she's won.

He starts with the scarf, untying it and tossing it in her direction. "You can sit on it," he offers. 

It's such a strange gesture she just ends up holding it over her lap. Soft, sort of. And uneven, like someone made it by hand. Who?

The rest of his clothing comes apart with no comment, little fuss. They must be a strange sight indeed if anyone is watching them. The nightkin with his massive erection and the "Little Girl" seated before him. But their progression is taking that other turn. 

He's all muscle, of course, front, back, sides too. Ridges of definition where there shouldn't be any. She wonders what happens to all his fat deposits. If he's hungry all the time? What does he even eat? When she's not looking at him, what does he do? Who is he? He won't tell her and it’s gonna drive her mad one of these days. Catches herself thinking about the fact she’s gonna do this again.

"On your knees, slut," she commands. He obeys. 

She snatches her pack and the oil in there. There's something else there too, but she doesn't reach for it, a souvenir she found in one of the abandoned floors of the Tops while she was poking around. Leaves it aside though. She's always liked using her fingers. Knowing it's her and not an extension. Though the extension can be fun.

The sun's almost gone now. They'll have to hurry because she wants to see him, even if it is only his back, shoulders, ass. Wants to see her fingers push into him and spread.

Gets her fingers slicked with Keene groaning already that he wants more though she's barely touched him. With three fingers past the ring of his asshole he's a whimpering mess for her. And fuck does she want to see his face. His eyes most of all. Watch him beg and twitch. 

"Touch yourself while I fuck you, while I pound my cock in your hole." 

She lines her hips up with her hand so she's thrusting against the curve of his ass while spearing him with her fingers. He's hissing and mewling as their skin slaps together, her thighs against the backs of his legs. And fuck, fuck she can feel him spasming around the fourth finger so she grinds her hips against her wrist pounding it further into him. Knows how to angle herself so her clit rubs against the side of her hand just right. She can grind down on it and get her pleasure too. Likes the softness of her own skin. Likes feeling him through and through, the pulse of her fingers inside of him. Almost thinks she can get her thumb in there too. But instead her mind wanders back to her pack. 

“Wait for me, baby.” 

His response is so choked she thinks maybe he can’t wait. But he stops stroking himself, holds very still while she pulls out her fingers and grabs at her pack. Before leaving Vegas she cleaned it, though when she found the box it was wrapped in tissue paper like it was new. A gift someone never got when the bombs raked through. Her hands shake as she tightens the straps on the harness. Before finding the box, she’d only seen strap-ons in pornographic magazines. Knows what to do with her hands well enough. Can only hope that skill translates over. But even when she pulls it as tight as she can, it feels like there’s too much slack. Fitted for someone who wasn’t her. But it’s not too bad. And she likes the way it juts out. Rubs her hand over it to spread the last of the oil. 

“Are you okay, Keene?”

“NO! I am not OKAY. Fuck me, for fuck’s sake.”

Almost laughs at his desperation. But he’s still looking so inviting. The cock slides into him easily. It’s not much thicker than her fingers, but certainly longer. Probably raises different flags for him. Yeah, he hitches at the intrusion and bucks his hips back. Doesn’t feel like her hand against her sex either, but she likes it in its difference. Keeps both her hands free to rub over her back, scratch down his spine. 

When she looks at his hole, full of her, twitching around her cock, she thinks maybe he can take a finger next to it, eager as he is. Dropping noises about how much he likes it, what a good fucking she’s giving him.

She tries to get her index finger back into him, but there isn't the time as a groan rips through Keene who obviously can't keep himself as quiet as she managed. His arms shake. She thinks maybe he might be crying but hopes it's from some sort of relief.

Now, with the fading sun, she doesn't know what to do with herself. Other than pull out her cock and watch his hole close. Wipes her hand against the dirt and tries not to think about things so hard. But it’s a problem, she wants to solve it. Wants to solve him. But he’s not giving up any clues.

“Was your name always Keene?” 

He’s back on his feet because there’s no time for afterglow. Creatures who aren’t either of them will be scurrying across the ground soon enough, haunting the darkness. 

“I’ll trade,” he offers, “a question for a question.”

It’s a bargain she’s willing to take. “Okay, but I want your whole name, then.” Really she wants more, but she doesn’t dare. Could be he wants more too. 

“Keene Williams, yeah, my real name. No sense changing it.”

That sparks inside her. Something to start with. She’s got resources enough, though maybe not enough time. But that name is something she can start with. Doesn’t have to pull the whole thing out of him tooth and nail. 

“Your turn,” she hopes she doesn’t regret this barter. 

“Jill, Why can he fuck you, and I can’t?”

Makes her want to laugh but she can already tell Keene wouldn’t appreciate the humor of his own question. Lots of possible answers, but no sense lying, even if her answer is a touch evasive. “He’s handsome, and powerful.”

“I bet I could crush him between my palms.”

“Not the same thing, Keene.”

While she dresses he follows her with his eyes. Dust sticks to the backs of her thighs, knees too. She brushes it away. He doesn’t try to help and she’s grateful for that. Takes her a second to find her cigarette against the ground. Gotta save it, only five more left. 

Offers one of the five to him. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” He shakes his head, refusing her. 

The right words for it don’t come at first. A jumble in her mind. And she really, really doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, give him the wrong impression. “Kindness, I guess.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“Did I say ‘pity?’” 

They stand across from each other in the darkness. Maybe it’s dark enough he can’t see her eyes and that’s why he seems more confident now. Might tell her to fuck off any second now. Waits for it, nurses her cigarette in the meantime. 

“What else could you mean? What, with the way you look at me.” 

She doesn’t have an answer for him.


	3. Cherish

The broken windows at Jacobstown aren't her business, not in the least. And she doesn't need the caps. Got access to caps that are good as hers. Can't even blame it on some sort of pride at earning her own money, because Jill knows she doesn't have pride. Not like that. Would have had better luck convincing herself that she's going to Jacobstown to visit Lily. Yeah, sure. Go with that.

Marcus says they need seven windows to replace the cracked or outright broken ones. Three to protect Dr. Henry's equipment, they've got priority, then four they could do without but if she happens to find a cache might as well grab them. He gives her the dimensions and she enters them into her pip-boy. Fuck knows she'll never remember otherwise. Might not even look for windows, though.

Out in the gardens, little plots of almost-life, Lily tells her the cigarettes will kill her. Chokes up your lungs, turns them black. Jimmy should really stop smoking. Doesn't want Jimmy to die young, seen it too many times. Jill mumbles that she'll try but doesn't put it out. Another moment and Lily will forget she said anything about her smoking. She watches Lily garden at empty beds, passing her deadwood branches when she asks for tools that don't exist. Notes down the things Lily wants, in case she finds them in the Wastes. Lines of amber text at her wrist recalling the things she can't be bothered to remember.

Thinks maybe Lily might have known him, back before they were like this. Doesn't dare ask though, because it might upset her. Instead Jill lets herself be called Jimmy until the sun is gone and Lily shoos her inside with a firm push that nearly knocks her over. 

His clumsy footsteps haven't been at her back today. And she won't ask after him, because she's definitely here either about the windows or to visit Lily.

Sitting in the kitchen at the lodge she watches Lily bake. Pours ingredients together to make dozens of cookies. Needs to be a big batch, she says, because her eyes aren't as sharp as they used to be. She has to follow the bigger numbers on the measuring cups. Jill knows it's not her eyes, Lily's got no fine motor control left. So Jill helps her press the cookies down into the right size with her smaller hands.

He's here, and he's visible. 

"Silly Keene, the cookies aren't done yet. But your girlfriend is doing a lovely job helping me with her young eyes."

She blushes despite her best efforts. Can’t really control it. Lots to process there between some pretty simple statements. Keene is not a Jimmy. Lily knows something has happened between them. She's a lot more lucid than Jill thought. That or Keene has been spreading a hell of a rumor.

"Lily," she wants to correct her mistake. It's a mistake.

"Don't worry, deary, it can be a secret if you want. Marcus wouldn't approve. Likes you. Doesn't like Keene. But he's a good boy."

Keene, for his part, doesn't respond. Blocks the doorway with his big shoulders and heavy breathing. Jill can only hope he doesn't do anything weird. Not leaving is pretty weird, but he waits until the cookies are done baking. Looming in the doorframe, not saying a word. She doesn't look at him because he doesn't like her eyes.

Lily foists off half a dozen cookies on him, hot from the oven. Shoves them from her fist into his. The break apart between their hands. Without thickened skin like theirs Jill has to wait for the cookies to cool. While she waits she runs her finger in wasted sugar, spilled out over the rim of the measuring cup.

"Little Girl," Keene starts.

"Not here," she cautions.

Waits until the cookies won't burn the roof of her mouth. Still warm though, she eats two. They're all crumbly and wrong. Chocolate sticks to her teeth like glue. Honestly she can't remember if she otherwise ate today. Probably not. Not with the way the hunger claws.

When she goes to leave, Lily waving goodbye, he moves only enough to let her pass. Her shoulder bumps against his broad chest because he doesn't leave enough space. No subtlety; he's smelling her.

"Are you fighting?" Keene leaves off the 'with him.'

"No, showered before I left."

But when she did she used his fancy soap. Like nothing she had before him. So in a way she still does smell like she's someone else's.

"Why are you here?" He asks. But that's her question.

"Windows," she shrugs. "Lily."

"Liar," such a petty accusation.

That must have been the wrong answer because she neither sees him nor not-sees him later that night. And her stomach aches because all she ate were two of Lily's shitty cookies.

\--

In the weeks that follow she continues much as she has before. Kill things, collect things, make friends, make more enemies. Tries to find something to make her feel. But maybe the bullet broke that. Broke her. And maybe she should be thankful because while she's shooting through the skull of someone whose biggest mistake might have been getting too fucked up at the wrong time, she doesn't feel bad about it.

Cass calls her cold like it's a compliment. 

When they hit up vaults, she downloads everything from the busted down terminals to her pip-boy. Takes the extra time for that. Yes Man writes her a program that lets her search the files for keywords. "Keene," "Williams," "Keene Williams." She knows Lily came out of a vault, but not a nearby one. In a moment of lucidity, Lily said they all came from vaults. The change didn't work otherwise. There are a lot of hits on Williams, but none of them are right. None of them are Keene. 

A cigarette in in his hand, Benny asks her what she's looking for. Says she's not sure yet. She'll know it when she sees it. And maybe that's it, that she's looking out for the wrong thing. Can't see right with the blinders on. She takes his cigarette from his fingers, though it's not the brand she prefers, and finishes it herself. Gets that fancy lipstick she found all over it. Later she gets it all over him too.

All the ceilings at the Tops are sort of an off-white. Eggshell? Is that what it's called? Pre-war magazines have all that sort of stuff. Interior decorating and matching paint and curtains and shit. The way you're supposed to organize furniture. Better than anything she could manage on the farmstead that wasn't hers. Back when she cared. But caring didn't last long. 

Likes how bright the Strip is. As if it could blind her.

\--

When she does return to Jacobstown it's without a decision regarding Lily's medicine, without any windows, and she's still no closer to knowing anything about Keene. Finishes her cigarette before crossing the threshold into the lodge. Tries not to think about whether or not she's being followed.

Because she wasn't paying attention the first time, Dr. Henry explains about the nightstalkers all over again. Smacking her gum, she otherwise stays silent. Must be important enough to him that he doesn't mind saying the whole deal over again. Makes her wonder what stake he's got wrapped up with these mutants, which one he's fucking, or planning to fuck.

Though Dr. Henry says she should take Lily with her for assistance in the cave, she doesn't, she won't. Lily is here in Jacobstown so Jill can't hurt her anymore. Because when Jill's in charge of her, she gets hurt. And Lily doesn't deserve that. Her days should be spent baking awful cookies and tending to crops. From under her straw hat, the nightkin smiles and waves her big, meaty paw. Jill waves back, making the motion wide so her 'bad eyes' can see it. When she's out of line of sight, she frowns.

Back around the lodge, Keene grabs hold of her wrist, jerking her towards him. It hurts, but she does her best not to let him know that. She grabs his scarf in both hands, curling them into fists and pulling until it strains around his neck. One of his hands falls to the curve of her hip, just round to her back, while the other plays with her hair.

"I'll help you with the cave." He doesn't comment on her scent. "Protect you."

"I don't need protection," she snarls. Not when she has that funny gun she stole from the supply closet in Dinky. It's the best fucking pistol she's ever laid her soft, pretty hands on. She wishes she had it when she was sixteen. Might have made her life easier.

"I'm coming with you." It's a lost cause, trying to dissuade him, so she let's him follow. Doesn't even know if he can actually fight or not. Assumes that he can because Lily can, but that doesn't mean it's true. Just because that's what he was made a mutant for doesn't mean he can do it. 

The only sound between them is her chewing stale gum. Not like they have anything to discuss. She's not about to ask him endless questions he won't answer. At least not right now.

When she crouches down low to enter the cave, she feels him brush against her back, fingers dance over her shoulder before he pushes on ahead. If he wants to get swarmed by the little beasts, that's his problem, not hers. The air is damp, smells like minerals she can't place, but it's strong. Blots out the smell of Keene. Didn't realize she was wrapped in it until it is gone. The light is so low she can barely make anything out. She'll have to listen for the movement of the stealth-mutated darkstalkers anyway. Hopes that Keene isn't so loud as to disturb them. 

Hears the rattle first, and then the patter of tiny feet against the wet ground. She stays pressed up against her cover, peaking around. Listens and hopes she times things right. When she hears one screech about something or another, then a wave of rattles, she fires into where the pack should be. Gets two of them, maybe three. Can hear their sobs die out. For stupid creatures they sound entirely too human. But human cries don't bother her like this.

There are more little feet, then Keene's big ones. She can make him out well enough. Wasted all his stealth-boys probably. None left for when he actually needs them, idiot. There's the crunch of tiny bodies being broken apart in his hands. When they die like that they don't cry. But he's in the way and she can't see them to shoot.

It's not until one of the little ones is clawing at the leg of her leather armor that she gets another certain kill. The head bursts apart with the bullet, splattering against the rock, her pants. After that it's quiet. They must have gotten them all between the two of them. At least all of them in this part of the cave. She stands, considers brushing off her leg but then the gunk will just be on her hand. 

"Hey, Kee-"

She doesn't get to finish her sentence because he's on her. Grabbing her narrow hips in his hands, he lifts her up off the ground and slams her back into the chilled wall of the cave. It's jagged against her back. His fingers press so deep into her flesh she already knows it'll bruise. In a panic she swallows her gum. Panting breaths and his eyes are wide, staring ahead in the darkness to hers. Something is wrong. Very wrong. She closes her eyes, turns her head away, but he takes her by the chin and wretches her face back to meet his. Presses his lips against hers. And it's gentle, so gentle compared to the way he holds her against the cave wall with one hand like a brute. 

This, this of all things, induces the fear she perhaps should have felt weeks ago. Because this isn't Keene as she knows him. This is something else, the disconnect between his hand and his mouth. She keeps her lips stitched together, tries to turn her head, but she can't. She's trapped.

"Farah, oh, God, Farah," as he whispers another woman's name against her skin, she trembles in his hands. The shock of it overwhelms her. Dr. Henry said the nightkin were unstable, prone to schizophrenic breaks. But he also said Keene wasn't as bad as the others, if a touch violent. But it isn't his violence that makes her blood run cold. If it were violence she'd feel fine about shooting him. She's still got her gun in her hand, holding it limply at her side. Because it's not violence, but a weird sort of fragility, she hesitates.

"Keene," she urges. Snapping him out of it dramatically seems the wrong move to make. Maybe like waking someone who is sleepwalking? But he's got to come out of it. 

His hand is in her hair, pulling it away from her scalp. And lips so close to hers they touch as he speaks, moving against hers, kissing with words. "Your eyes are so beautiful, so green."

She wants the shaking to stop. But it's just the adrenaline, her flight instinct kicking in against a much larger opponent. And if nothing else Keene's that. Much larger. Already has her pinned like an insect under a microscope.

"Keene, it's Jill. Remember? We're in Charleston Cave, outside Jacobstown." Keeps her voice as even as she can.

"I'll make you so happy, Farah, for the rest of your life, you'll see. Say yes, please. Tell me you'll say yes?"

"Keene, it's Jill."

She's still up off the floor, his other hand running between her breasts, against her sternum as he pleads with an absent woman. His past is something she wanted to solve, to access, but not this viscerally. Not when he's so unpredictable. She wants to know it, not live through a second-hand illusion of it.

There's a noise, nothing more than a shift of something against stone. Maybe a darkstalker carcass sliding due to gravity. Keene moves suddenly when it reaches his ears, pressing tight against her body. He's solid and she's shaking. Everywhere. Everything is shaking. If she has to, she'll pull the trigger but like this she doesn't know what she'll hit.

At first she thinks he's going to release her when the hand on her hip moves. But instead he just uses his body to hold her up, a knee between her legs, her feet swinging above the ground. He holds her face between his hands and looks into her eyes. Said he didn't like her eyes. But it's not really her who he's looking at.

"Farah, they're taking everyone, the monsters got inside and are taking everyone from the vault." He speaks in quick, hushed whispers. 

"Stop, Keene, you're scaring me." She can feel the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Tells herself to snap out of it before he snaps her in two, whether or not he means to.

"They won't take you, they won't," the last word is filled with a possessive rage. As are the following, "You're mine, Farah, my Little Girl. They can't have you." Kisses her again, but this time it's rough, she can't keep his tongue out of her mouth. Teeth scraping against her bottom lip.

When he starts to twist her neck she doesn't hesitate any longer. Pulls the trigger with the muzzle of the gun pressed against his leg. From the warmth splashing back onto her hand, she knows she hit him. But his big palms are still cradling her head, torquing like he's going to snap it off. So she pulls the trigger on her pistol again and again, trying to aim higher, maybe at something vital. The blood on her fingers makes them slippery on the trigger. On the fourth shot he wretches back, grabs his thigh where the bullets emptied into him. Without him to hold her up she slides to the floor. 

"Fuck! Goddamnit!" He roars. When he turns and sees her, a heap against the wall, pistol in her hand, he stops. "Jill?" Their eyes only catch for a second before he looks away.

He bolts from the cave, best he can on his injured leg. And she's still shaking. 

From the breast pocket of her armor she pulls her cigarette pack and lighter. Can barely get the damn thing lit. Takes two of them like that on the floor before she feels ready to move.

Doesn't go back to the lodge. Doesn't know where Keene went. But she doesn't want Lily asking why Jimmy's eyes are red.

\--

The lights in Benny's suite are never out. She knows it's because when he was Tribal, he didn't like the night. It was the first thing he said to her that made her think him human, rather than some boggy-man from the nightmare where he shot her.

He doesn't ask why she's got blood all over her hands. But when he passes her a tumbler of scotch she realizes she didn't wipe it away. Just ran the whole way back once she found her feet. He never asks questions about her work, because they've decided to trust each other. That's a rare thing. Boone thinks she's crazy for it. But the thing is the sniper's too direct and simple to ever understand people like her and Benny.

"I saw that mutant." She says it, not knowing what she hopes it'll accomplish. Looks at the eggshell-ceiling.

He smiles behind his glass. "That sniper of yours tried to fight me."

Laughter is so thick in her chest she forgets everything else for a moment.

\--

Maybe she doesn't wait as long as she should before trekking back. And she's really got no excuse for why her feet take her to Jacobstown and not somewhere else. At least, she thinks that's where she's headed until she turns off the road. The way to the house that was never hers is choked with long-dead growth. Maybe a few meager sproutlings where seeds are more resilient than the harsh environment. She read once that humans engineered corn to be the way it is. That it used to be hard and unpalatable, but after generations of selective mortification, it grew sweet.

It was never her house, but she has a key for the door. Clicks in the lock and lets her in. The living room is as she left it, not looking like those pre-war magazines because none of the furniture matches and the wallpaper is all peeled. 

The electrics don't work anymore, so she switches on her pip-boy light. Lots of light from the windows too. She has to step over broken bottles to get to the kitchen. Their contents ten years ago soaked into the carpet leaving stains like wounds.

His bones are in the kitchen. The knife still on the table, coppery-red-brown at the blade. And like that she's eighteen again. The handle still looks too big for her hand. Likes the pistol she has now better.

There are lots of questions on her tongue when she smells him, hears him. But fuck like he'll answer them.

"Why are you here, Keene?" At least she hopes it's Keene, the one she knows and who knows her in return. Not the one who pinned her to the wall and kissed her lips. "How do you know to be here?"

"Came here after." But it's not an answer. It's not an answer to why he's here of all places in the fucking wasteland.

"Why here?" She doesn't know if he's stealthed or not, because she won't turn to face his voice. He doesn't like her eyes. But at the very least, it is him, so she's not afraid. Angry, maybe, but not afraid.

"There's a name on your hip, 'Brooks.'"

He marked her, long ago, like she was cattle. That's not her name, like this isn't her house. "It's just Jill."

Keene seems to know well enough now not to touch her. But like before, she feels that urge to reach back into the void that must be there. Here, in the last place she cared. 

Can't be scared of him. That's letting the fear win. And she never lets the fear win, so she turns around to face him, visible, with his scarf around his neck and pants sitting low on his hips. No harness. Tries, really tries, to think of what he must have looked like before. The shape of his jaw, the way his hair framed his face. Even after what happened, her curiosity remains. This dull ache in her chest that is almost something. 

"A question for a question?" Afraid he'll say yes she nonetheless asks.

He nods, "but I go first this time."

That's fine by her. She uses the time he takes to formulate the question to light a cigarette. The end of it glows in the semi-darkness. The curtains don't match. One is paisley and the other checked.

"Why did you kill him?"

The question he asks is so easy to answer it's not even fair. She'll tell anyone who asks, just no one else has ever put two and two together. "My parents, who couldn't feed me, sold me to a man that could. I didn't like him, so I killed him."

"That simple?"

"Killed men since then over less than that, Keene." Blasé she might be but it's the truth. "My turn." And there are dozens of questions just at the tip of her tongue, but she goes for the analogous one. She likes the symmetry of it. "Why did you kill her?"

"So she wouldn't be this," he gestures to himself. 

Jill leans back against the countertop, her hands gripping the edge, Brooks' bones at her feet. "That can't be the reason. You couldn't have known."

"Knew monsters when I saw them. Knew no good could come of it."

With her cigarette down to the nub, she puts it out on the old skull, leaving yet another mark on him.

He takes a step towards her, his chest rising and falling as he breathes. That masculine smell of him in her nostrils. Could drown in it. Seems possible. Right now he's so close he blots out the world around them.

"Keene, last time you did this, I had to shoot you in the leg."

"Yes," he's already got one hand in her hair, but keeps a sliver of space between their bodies. Enough that she knows she can get out if she wants. "I wasn't myself."

"Or too much yourself," she offers. Either could be construed as true.

"I want to touch you, Little Girl."

She winces. It's not about jealousy, because fuck that. But more about the association. But it seems to bring him comfort, so she holds her tongue for now. "Not here."

He lets her dark hair fall back to her shoulders.

After Keene leaves, she spends two hours rearranging furniture in the living room. Doesn't end up finding an arrangement that she likes. Just gets mad at inanimate objects that don't match. 

In her rage she tears off her armor, leaving it littered across the floor. She pulls up the covers of the bed she made that morning ten years go, even though she had already decided on stabbing the old man. Slips into bed and slides her hand into her underwear. Grasps her nipple between her thumb and forefinger, twisting until she hurts herself. Repeats the process on the other side.

The sheets smell like Keene. The realization hits her that he's been sleeping in the bed. So it's made, all perfect corners, because he's remade it.

Her fingers work at her clit, careful not to scratch herself with her nails. Rubs herself in quick circles because at this point she just wants to fucking cum. It's not quite enough, though. Her pack is back in the decisively un-balanced, poorly decorated, living room, but the fake cock is in there. Comes loose from the harness. Even if it didn't, she could still push it inside. 

She doesn't want to leave the warmth or the smell, but she also really wants to feel full, and her fingers are too small. Crawling out of bed, she pads to the living room to get the dildo out of her pack. Under the sheets again, she slides it into her, far as it'll go. She already so wet that it doesn't come up against much resistance. Taps on the base of it. Likes the slight vibration. 

"Fuck, Keene." 

It's not as big as he looks, not by a longshot, but she can imagine, fill in the blank spaces. And his hands can cover her breasts entirely, unlike hers. All the same she writhes in bed and thinks about how he would take her. Doesn't like her eyes, so she rolls onto her stomach, careful not to let the dildo slide out. Gets up onto her hands and knees. Spreads her legs so he could fit between them. His massive thighs against her more slender ones. She pulls the cock out a bit by the base before slamming it back in, harder than she would if she wasn't indulging in this particular fantasy. Thinks about how his balls would slap against her softer, flesher body. And his hands at her breasts, using them to hold her in place and spear into her. She hasn't the hands to do everything at once, so she leaves the dildo pressed inside her while she rubs her clit. Because she's alone she lets herself whimper as she orgasms, clenching around the toy. Pants than name of a man she both knows and doesn't know.

By the time she's dressed, almost all the natural light has gone from the sky. This close to the Strip, light pollution blots out the stars. But she doesn't want to sleep here, so she gathers her things, heads to Jacobstown without her excuse.

\--

Lily didn't know Jimmy was coming, but how lucky she baked a cake anyway. It's spongy and chocolatey and tastes much better than her cookies. There are also six of them, different sizes based on the pans Lily has available. The kitchen is hot from the oven running all day. 

Out of her pack she pulls a little spade she found. Hands it over so Lily can take it. Looks so tiny in her big hands. The nightkin grins so wide it's nearly terrifying. But Jill hugs her after hopping off the barstool. Can't get her arms around her big shoulders.

In the hallway Marcus stops her, casually asks her how the hunt for windows is going. She tells him she can get them made custom, if they're that important. Knows someone who can do it. In the end they settle on just the three for Dr. Henry's lab. The equipment is expensive, and he's doing so much to help the residents. The way Marcus talks about Henry makes her think that he's the one fucking the doctor. Maybe Marcus is just genuinely nice. But she can't say the same of Henry.

She's got her normal room, well, the room she's gotten before. No one really assigned it to her, but it's also obvious none of the mutants have been using it. Except this time something is amiss. A little velvet jewelry box on her pillow. So plushly-unsoiled-black it must have been cleaned recently because dust gets into everything in the Mojave. Her first instinct is to throw it out the window, because she can only think of one idiot who would do such an odd thing for her.

But she also doesn't want to break another window. That's clearly a problem around here and these ones look all intact.

Though she can't throw it away, she also doesn't want to open it. Puts it on the nightstand and crawls into bed. Maybe in the morning she'll figure out why she's here.

Doesn't have to wait until morning, because Keene is kneeling by her bedside, loud as ever. This time she doesn't pretend to be asleep.

"Why are you-"

He doesn't let her finish, interrupting because he already knows the question. The both know there is no answer. Counters it with one of his own. "Do you like it?"

Takes her a moment, because she's still a little sleep-fogged, to realize he's talking about the jewelry box she didn't open. She evades the question. As long as they're playing this game. 

"Why is it here?" She grabs it and opens it, before he can call her out on not looking at it. Might show some sort of fear of the unknown. All that's there is a gold chain, thin and simple with a tiny clasp he could never work. 

"I can give you beautiful things too." 

Before he said he doesn't want her pity. But like this he's trying her patience. Almost as if he's as addled as Lily but they both know that's not true. Being able to conjure up excuses doesn't make them true.

"I can't fix the rest of what's wrong with me, but I can give you beautiful things. If that's what you need."

"Stop, Keene." And she means it, so he does. Shuts him right up. But his fingers grip the edge of the mattress, just out of range of her skin. "Touch me, Keene."

The mattress sinks under his weight. Odd to think this is the first time they've been in a bed together. He pins his legs on either side of hers, straddling her but careful to balance his own weight. With her wrist in the ring of his fingers, he holds her arm up. Tugs the necklace out of the box and loops it around her like a bracelet. Doesn't have to mess with the clasp that way. It hangs loose, sliding around her arm, but she doesn't remove it.

He grabs the hem of her shirt, pulls it over her head. Exposed to the air her nipples start to harden on their own even before his hands are on her. He squeezes them both at the same time, just up to the threshold of pain. Could go a little further even. His eyes stay fixed to her chest. "Want to put my mouth on you."

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

She closes her eyes to listen to her own breaths, then his louder ones. "Okay."

He starts at her breasts, kissing over them before sucking one dark nipple into his mouth. Keeps at it until she hisses, then moves to the other. Seeing his head against her chest looks like a vicious thing. Like he could eat her, like she would fit inside him. Live in his chest cavity.

"You smell like me."

She realizes it must be from the sheets at the farm. Her hair and body against the bed he used for days. Can't vocalize it, but she nods.

Pulling himself up, he looms over her. Still looks slightly down at first, but manages to catch her eyes for a moment. She doesn't force the issue. Now would be a very bad time for him to break.

"Oh, God, Jill, you smell like me. I want. I want."

She's forgotten that his voice is ugly. Forgotten it entirely. 

He growls, more to himself than anything, before continuing, "I want." He paws at her, grabbing at her hips and thighs, waist and shoulders, anywhere he can reach really and that's all of her. Poking and prodding. The stroke of his coarse hands are everywhere against her skin. "I want to split you open on my cock. I want to fuck you so hard you can't remember his name. Make your cunt so hot for my cum you don't care about any of the handsome, powerful men in the whole goddamn world."

She gives him a little whine, so laced with arousal she hopes he understands. Maybe he can't actually do any of those things, but they can pretend.

"I don't think you have it in you," she taunts.

He grabs her by the hair, pulling and exposing her neck to his mouth. Sucks on it right at the base where it meets her shoulder while he spreads her legs around his. Her underwear is soaked and he must be able to tell. 

"You're going to eat those words, Little Girl."

"Don't call me that." She stops him. "I need to know you're with me."

"Why? When you're with him." He's taken it the wrong way.

"That's not what I mean, Keene."

Once he's realized what she does mean, he comes back at her more vicious than before. Rips her underwear at the seams so he can pull it off her while her legs are still locked around him. "Do you want my cock in your tight little pussy, Jill?" There's still a layer of fabric between them, but he grinds against her all the same. So thick she's already worried. "Fuck your pussy so hard you feel me in your throat."

Her painted nails rake down his chest harder than she normally would because she knows he can take it. Anyone else would bleed from the slice of her nails. Bites them into his shoulders and leaves them there as they rub against each other.

She's not willing to give up that much control. And if she knows him, that's not what he wants either. Likes the challenge of her, that she could turn on him as easily as he could turn on her. Each have their own methods of destruction, of breaking.

"Show me then." When he leans forward to kiss her, she dodges and bites his lip instead until he makes a pained nose. But no matter how she tries she can’t break the skin. "Show me."

To get his pants off he's gotta detangle from her, but he strips as quickly as possible. Though she's seen his erect cock before, it was never in a context where it going inside her was at all an option. Reevaluating, she's not entirely sure how it's supposed to fit. But, it's not supposed to at all, because Keene isn't supposed to be like this. He's supposed to be safe underground with a beautiful green-eyed girl named Farah. And while Jill's got the green eyes, the sharp whispers of his past are still in her ears. This isn't who he's supposed to be. Not where he's supposed to be.

"Is there oil in your bag?" He kisses her knee, naked now but not back between her legs.

"Yeah, but I'm wet. Really wet." Distractedly, she rubs two fingers against her clit.

He's already going through her things, "Don't think that will be enough." 

This bottle is a particularly nice one. Smells faintly of roses or something like that. Not like she knows what a rose smells like, really. Just rose scented crap that survived the apocalypse. Maybe somewhere, someone knows. 

One of his thick fingers slides into her. She pushes down on it because like hell she's just gonna lay there. With her aggressiveness, he slides in a second almost right away. That pushes up against the edge of too much already. When he seems to realize as much, he slows down the strokes.

"You don't like it as rough as you give it?" He questions.

Turning her head against the pillow, she replies, "Not really. The talking is okay, but."

"You're small, and tight." Like it isn't obvious. "You need to relax." Like that isn't obvious too.

His fingers spread just a bit. Enough to get uncomfortable again before backing away. 

"Keene, I don't think it's going to work." As a matter of practicality, it might not. 

For a split second she thinks he might change. Like she's repeated the words of a dead girl and he'll mistake one for the other. This time there isn't a gun in her hand, though it is under her pillow. He grabs both her wrists with his free hand and pins them against her stomach. Works her with his fingers, slower still.

"I'll be kind to you, if that's what it takes."

"But you don't want to be kind."

"I want you, as I can have you," his thumb rubs against her clit in the tiniest circles he can manage. 

"Why, Keene?"

Keeping his eyes averted, he shakes his head. He's not ready or this isn't the time or something.

Little by little she relaxes. With the gentle motion of his thumb against her clit, she comes off. Still doesn't make any noise for him. A short gasp maybe. When she comes down from the high of her orgasm, she does feel marginally more relaxed. And his fingers inside her don't seem so precariously huge. But they're still not his cock.

"Let me try, Jill."

"Okay," for now she trusts she can stop this. As long as he remains himself, doesn't slip into the stealth-boy induced madness, she's safe. Even if she can't articulate why, she is.

The tip of him presses against her entrance, feels like any other cock, other than the fact it doesn't breach her easily. He's made sure he's lubricated and slips against her when she doesn't yield. Keeps sliding along her labia, parting her folds with his length. He's trying to work her up again. He puts his hand over his erection, holding it down so his it is sliding against her pussy. Doesn't try to penetrate her again, not at first.

"Let me inside you, Jill." He covers her mouth with his. Swallows her gasp as just the tip slides past her resistance. Doesn't push her further. "Yes," he hisses, though she can't imagine just holding himself still is doing much for his pleasure. 

She's so stretched she's gotta work her breaths even. Curls her hands in his shoulders so he knows he's got her. So she knows he's got him. His hips buck forward sharply, but only about a quarter of an inch. Fuck, the stretch is so tight that she doesn't know if she'll be able to hold it together and he's barely in her. 

"I'm hurting you?" Keene asks brushing his hand over her forehead, pushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes stay screwed shut, so he may be looking at her. 

"You're just really big."

The way he chuckles reverberates through his body. "God, Jill, I just want to annihilate you." He's kissing along her hairline with chapped lips. "Want to wreck you for anyone else." The strain in his voice is evident. Like the laughter holds back his rage. "Tear you apart with my cock and my hands and teeth."

The talk makes her wetter than the reality of his dick, inching its way inside her bit by aching bit.

"Keep talking, Keene, fuck." Her nails leave half-moons on his shoulders,

"You want this, Jlll?" He slips deeper while Jill tries to curse the pain away. But she's too panicked now. Doesn't want to fight him, but that's the way her body goes.

"I can't," admitting defeat tastes so sour in her mouth.

Keene pulls out and even that scrape is over stimulating. Makes her whimper at the end. There's a dull noise above her head, bits of plaster falling on her face. Keene punched a hole in the wall over the bed. Breaking straight through the drywall. Another thing that needs fixing. In the darkness she watches the rise and fall of his chest while he breathes. Tries to slow it down and fails.

"I'll go." His voice is pained. "If I stay I'll hurt you. Want to hurt you now. Very badly."

But he doesn't move. Just holds himself over her. His erection presses against the skin of her stomach.

"There are other things we can do."

"Not the same. Not what I want right now."

The rose oil is on the bed still. She takes it in her hands, trying to warm it through the glass bottle. "I didn't mean that, Keene. Here, give me a little space, pull your hips up."

She uncaps the bottle. Pouring some of the oil between her legs, it's still too cold. With her hands she spreads it at the apex of her thighs, against her labia. More of it she rubs onto his cock using both hands to make sure she has him everywhere. "Put your cock between my thighs, Keene. It won't be as tight but-"

He doesn't have to be told again, slipping in between her legs, pressing against her pelvis. She squeezes together her thighs as tight as she can around him. Like this he can thrust as hard as he wants against her, between her. And the slick of him feels good against her clit. So good now that she's not anxious or afraid, she relaxes while keeping the artificial tension in her legs, tightening and loosening and listening to the way he growls and whines as she does so.

"Baby, oh Keene, you feel so good."

One hand squeezes her small breast. He's not really stimulating it, more like possessing it, possessing her. In these moments, she's his. And she's fine with playing this role. Feels different, but not bad, because she can stop it. 

"Mine, mine, mine." Keene grunts. "When you fuck him, when you fuck anyone, when you fuck yourself, you're still mine."

Her breath hitches. Even like this he might be the death of her. It surprises her when she comes from the friction against her sex, the thrumming rub of his shaft against her clit. 

"Jill, God Jill, come for me, yes."

Something about seeing her must set him off, because he starts cumming between her legs, pressing down on her so hard she thinks she'll go straight through the mattress and into the floorboards. Fall through to the first floor before crashing into the dirt. He bites at her neck making her scream from the sharpness of it. If they others didn't know before, they do now.

She's got to start breathing regular. Her legs splay, sore from keeping them tightly together. With one hand Keene wipes at the sweat of her forehead. The fingers of the other are pressing inside her. But fuck she's overstimulated and every touch is a flame. Takes her a moment to realize what it is he's doing. Caking his cum on his fingers and spreading it inside her. Marking her.

"Keene-"

"I'm sterile, all of the mutants are." He pauses, "Does it matter now?"

She doesn't answer him. Doesn't stop him either.

\--

When she wakes up Keene is gone. Long gone as far as she can tell. In the space he might have occupied there's a red dress. She pulls at it, looks like it might fit her, but that's beside the point. Silk and without stains, she can't imagine where it came from. From the tag on the inside she recognizes it as pre-war expensive fashion magazine type stuff. Now it could have just as easily been Wasteland rags.

She throws on a collared shirt, jeans, boots. Pops the collar up so that Lily won't see her bruise. In the mirror it's dark and angry. Keene broke a bunch of blood vessels when he bit her. Doesn't know what to do with the dress so she hangs it up in the closet.

With Lily tending to a few emerald green sprouts, Jill leans over the fence, letting the knotted beams support her weight. She's sore all over from the way Keene handled her. Watching Lily isn't as distressing as she thought it would be. Today the old nightkin talks to herself mostly. Talks about pictures of flowers she saw as a girl in the vault. The silk ones she held in her hands when she got married. Her daughter held the same ones years later. Can't remember her daughter's name. Lily wishes that they had gardens, knows some of the vaults had beautiful flowers all around. Jill tells Lily she'll bring her flowers, but only because the she'll forget the promise was ever made.

"Lily, did you know a girl named Farah?"

She doesn't look up from her work to answer, digging holes then filling them again. "Jimmy looks like Farah. With green eyes and black hair."

"So you knew her?" Jill's heart races, she might learn more than she expected, without the vault info dumps and without asking Keene.

"No," Lily shakes her head so violently her sunglasses nearly come off. "Keene told me."

Another dead end. 

Keene doesn't see her again before she leaves for the Strip. His fingerprints are still everywhere. When Benny sees them he only smiles and asks Jill if she had fun. In return she grunts and shrugs her shoulders. Sitting side by side at the bar at the Tops, he plays with the necklace around her wrist.

\--

When Michael Angelo finishes the order for the windows she says she'll cart them up to Jacobstown herself before she realizes that she's got no way to move them. Ends up settling on letting the caravanners deliver them, she'll just visit the next week to make sure Marcus is satisfied. 

It ends up being almost two weeks before she finds the time to go. So many other things that need her attention. And it isn't as if she's got attention to spare. Her pip-boy is full of tasks she wishes she could forget.

As she walks it rains. Only ever rained one other time in Jill's whole life. When it started, her mother ran from the house to grab her up and pull her inside. When it hit her skin it burned something fierce. Doesn't matter to her that her mother protected her then, shielding her from the acid droplets with her own body, because years later she threw Jill away like garbage.

Most of her is covered by her armor and the water doesn't burn as much as she remembers. So maybe her mother didn't make that much if a sacrifice after all. It does feel like something, but it’s not enough to worry. 

Her hair is soaked, sticking to her face. Having nothing to tie it up she leaves it as is. Where the bulk of it falls against her neck burns the worst. 

She doesn’t think to wipe her feet when she enters the lodge trailing wet patches behind her. The windows in Dr. Henry’s lab are all in place. They look newer than anything else in the damn settlement. Michael did a good job with them. Catching sight of her, Marcus thanks her, shakes her hand between his two big ones. Says it’s a real help. She just asks after Lily.

“Oh,” Dr. Henry has her answer. “I sent her to Charleston Cave, since you apparently came back with nothing.”

That makes her blood stop in her veins. No, Henry does not get to order Lily to fight. Even if Lily volunteered, she’s not to be sent. 

“What do you mean you sent Lily?” She can barely contain her rage, ready to run across the settlement and pull Lily out. Even if there are no nightstalkers left, no one is to ever again even insinuate Lily is to fight.

“I need to know more about the-”

Jill doesn’t wait for him to finish, darting out the door and in pursuit of Lily. In returning empty-handed to Henry weeks ago she fucked up. She fucked up and now Lily has been asked to do something other than garden or bake or tell sweet jumbled up stories.The rain stings at her eyes as she runs. 

Something catches her by the waist, pulling her up off the ground. She screams and kicks her legs out. Tries to push against her attacker.

“It’s me,” Keene with a stealth-boy.

That doesn’t stop her from thrashing in his arms. She has to get to Lily, make sure she’s okay. That nothing or no one has hurt her. 

“Let me go! Henry sent Lily to the cave.”

Keene’s arm tightens around her. Her boots still dangle half a foot off the ground. “And that’s a problem why? She’s safe, don’t worry.”

“You don’t know that!” 

“Come on, we’ll go together.”

He lowers her to the ground. Keeps the stealth-boy on but in the rain she can see the droplets running down his form. It creates an outline of him in the otherwise empty space next to her.

“You shouldn’t be out in the rain,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Radiation. It’ll change you.”

She doesn’t know one way or another really. Doesn’t know if she’d mind being changed either. 

As they approach the mouth of the cave she can make out Lily’s outline. Lily reaches out to her and Jill runs until she’s just inside the lip of the cave, out of the way of the rain.

“Are you okay, Lily?”

“Oh Jimmy, I’m fine, just fine. Didn’t want to get my hair wet.” Lily’s got no hair left. “But you, deary, shouldn’t be out in the rain either.”

“I know, Lily.” 

Keene’s heavy footsteps enter the cave as well. He stands beside her, his lumbering presence obvious enough. 

“Oh! You’re here too, Keene. You shouldn’t have let your girlfriend worry over little old me.”

Other than a grunt Keene remains quiet. 

The three of them wait for the rain to pass. Lily hums out-of-tune melodies from songs Jill has never heard. Eventually Keene’s stealth-boy wears off. He sits on one of the large rocks just inside the cave entrance, looking at Jill but also not really looking at anything. When the rain stops, Lily says she needs to see Henry and tend to the plants. She hopes all the soil hasn’t washed away. In the evening she’ll make cookies for Jimmy. Jill asks for cake instead. 

She doesn’t follow Lily out. Waits at the edge of the cave as the sun comes out. Her armor is soaked, but hopefully something in her bag will be dry. 

“I’m going back to the lodge,” she hopes Keene understands what she can’t say. 

They don’t see anyone on the way up the stairs. Once in her room he presses her back against the door so hard it rattles. She wraps her legs around his waist while he attacks her neck, nipping and biting. As her hair dries it sets into loose curls around her face. 

“Did you not like the dress?” He’s already pulled open the buckles on her armor, sliding one of his hands inside. 

“Didn’t want it to wrinkle in my bag,” that’s not strictly the truth. 

He growls against her neck, that possessive tone again, “Want to see you in it.”

“Okay.”

His hips thrust against hers. Behind her the door rattles at the impact. 

“If I’m gonna change, you gotta let me down.”

He lowers her until her boots hit the floorboards. Stepping from in front of him, she sees the bed, realizes it’s covered in silk flowers. Dozens and dozens of them. Most of them are faded, folded, like they sat in the sun for a long time. A few stand out, bright and bold. So much more saturated than the rest of the world around them.

“Keene, why are we here?” Her voice cracks under the weight of a gesture she can’t understand.

Unwilling to answer, he shakes his head. This time she can’t accept it. 

“Why am I here Keene,” her hand comes to cover her face. “Why are you here?” She chokes back sobs because she will not be this weak. Not for him, not for anyone. Her chest is so tight she feels like she might burst.

“You like beautiful things. Don’t you? Like to be among your own kind. I told you, I can give you that, if it’s what it takes.”

This will never be right. It won’t replace the blinding lights of Vegas or the way she straightens her hair in the gilded mirror at the Lucky 38. This strange room filled with fake flowers can’t change the fact she has a handsome, powerful man on the Strip who bends to her beck and call just as well as Keene does. Who can buy her anything in the Wasteland she wants or destroy anyone she dislikes.

“I want to see you in that dress.”

Instead of running she stays. Pulls off her armor while he watches it fall from her body. He can’t keep his mitts off her though, pressing his thumb over her tattoo, covering it up. When she steps away from his hand he doesn’t pursue. 

The dress is where she left it in the closet, a beautiful, bright red. Almost but not quite matches her nails. Feels nice against her fingers. She stays faced away from him as she pulls it over her head. The straps press delicately against her shoulders, the skirts swishing against her thighs. It’s the right size, clinging to her narrow frame. Finishes zipping it up herself, though she can feel him stepping behind her. He wouldn’t be able to work the zipper. When she turns she faces the plane of his chest. 

“The chain is on your neck.”

Her hand reaches for it. With no charm, she can only hold onto the gold links. “Yes. He put it on me.”

Snarling, he throws her back onto the mattress. Flowers catch in her hair, crush under her weight. They smell old and musty, like things long forgotten. Her legs splay so he can fit between them. He grinds against her, the skirt lifting up, his hands at her waist, encircling it. 

“And what did he think, when you went home to him, full of my cum?”

His thumbs press in the center of her stomach, threatening to crush her. 

“He didn’t care.” 

One hand comes to her face. He holds her chin in place but still avoids her eyes. Crushes his lips to hers until she’s at a loss for breath. 

“He doesn’t love you.”

“No one does,” she admits. 

Their eyes catch and at first she doesn’t know if it’s intentional. When they hold together she realizes that it is. He’s trying to look at her. But it’s too hard for them both. His breathing grows wretched in her ears. The pressure on her stomach does not cease. 

He bends her legs so his face will fit between them. Strokes her thighs as he pulls away her underwear. She stops him just short of beginning. 

“Why are we here?” Fuck, if it’s the only answer she’ll get out of him, she has to get it. Has to. 

“Because as much as you like beautiful things, you like broken ones more.”

He buries his face between her thighs, working her so hard and fast she comes within minutes. She forgets herself, forgets to be quiet. Shivers against his lips while he laps at her folds through the afterglow. She claws at his bare scalp as he slides two fingers into her. When she reaches back, trying to grab onto anything, she comes away with fistfuls of silk. 

The two slicked fingers scissor inside her. He’s moving so fast she forgets to tense. Just shudders through her second orgasm. 

Climbing back into bed, he keeps her skirts hiked around her waist. Tears the straps to the bodice like they’re made of tissue paper to expose her breasts. 

“You will take my cock, Jill.” His cock slides against her, not yet at her entrance. “I will make you.”

She nods furiously because the pace of it all is so scorching she wants it to be now. With one hand he holds her in place. As he presses his cock into her pussy she squirms, hips trying to buck into him, but when the edge of pain comes, back away. She’s moving in such bursts they’re not getting anywhere at first. He’s in, but only just barely. 

“Now, Jill, I’m going to do it now.”

“Okay.” 

With her assent he bucks all the way into her. The pain is white hot behind her eyes and between her legs. She’s never been so full of anything. It takes her a moment to realize she’s crying, soft whimpers spilling from her lips. 

Kissing at her temples, Keene whispers to her. “I’m in, I’ve got you, please stop crying, I’ve got you, I’ll make it better.” 

He’s inside her, but not moving. With every breath she can feel him. Presses so deep inside her that she can’t help but feel it. Slowly, he slides out, back in. Steady and even, gentle. More so than she expected. 

“Who am I?” She asks. Has to know who it is who is with her, in her. 

“Jill.”

“Keene.”

The girth of him spreads her so wide she feels like she’s on the brink of tearing. But instead she tries to think on the sound of his breathing. 

“I’m going to speed up, okay?”

She nods, his arms are braced against the mattress far above her head, so she paws at his chest. There’s nothing to hold on to. Inside her he moves in waves. She grows used to the stretch, likes the feeling of it better now. Her hands are still shaking so she presses them to his abdomen. 

“How does it feel?”

“Okay,” she starts, “good, full.” 

“I’m going to take you now.”

She doesn’t know what that means. But he wraps an arm around her torso, pulling her up against his chest. The fabric of the silken dress rubs against her skin where it still clings. He pulls her up onto his cock at the same time he thrusts down into her. Her nipples rub against his thicker skin. He controls her movement entirely. All along saying her name. A promise that this is okay. He’s okay. She won’t get hurt. 

He pulls her up so she’s in his lap, still using his arm to bounce her on his erection. Her mouth falls open. It’s all so much. Having something so big so deep.

Covering her mouth with his, he pierces her with his tongue. Fills her up. Pulls back.

“Jill, tell me you’re a whore for my cock.” That edge of jealousy rears again. He’s absolutely ramming into her, quicker than she could manage under her own strength. Their pelvic bones smash together. “That you can’t live without me in your wet little pussy.”

“Oh, fuck, Keene.” She can’t answer him. 

“Every night I’ll feed you like this. Fill you up until you burst. Fuck your pussy, your mouth, between your tiny little tits,” he twists one of her nipples until she gasps. “Train you to take me in your ass like a good whore.” One of his thick fingers slides into her open mouth. She sucks down on it, running her tongue along its length. He pushes it deeper and deeper until she gags around it. “Are you my good whore, Jill?”

She moans around his finger, nods her head the best she can. When she does, he pushes her back into the mattress. In sharp bursts he’s coming inside her, wet and thick. She’s shaking all over again, blotting out his noise and the way he tears at her skin. 

Once he’s out of her she instinctively covers her groin with her hands. She’s so sore, probably will be for days. Doesn’t want to explain to Lily why Jimmy can’t walk. Worst part is, she’ll probably know without Jill having to tell her.

Keene is silent on the bed beside her. Only the sounds of his chest as it rises and falls. A broken thing. Looking at the side of his face she feels something. But can’t quite put her finger on it. 

Where before the dress’ fabric felt luxurious in tatters it’s only bothersome. He helps her pull it away so they are both bare. She rolls over to find her pack on the floor, fish out a cigarette. Without thinking she offers one to him, he refuses. 

“Are you alright?” He asks almost as if he fears the answer.

“No.” 

Keene waits for her to finish the cigarette before trying to touch her. She doesn’t move away. It’s just his hand at her waist, feather light, not even really resting it.

“I hurt you.”

“Yes.”

“You smell like me.”

The artificial flowers prick against her back. She lights a second cigarette.

“Yes.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” with the cigarette done it’s her turn. “Would you kill me too? If a monster came for me?”

“A monster already has you.”

She’s not sure if he’s referring to himself or to Benny.

“Do you know who he is?”

Keene nods, smells her hair. “Everyone does. They talk about it on the radio. No one understands you.”

She laughs, “Because of him or because of you?”

That question he leaves well enough alone.

“Stay here.”

She can’t. She won’t. She can’t give him more than this. Already given him more than she should. She pulls one of the unusually vibrant flowers from under her hip. Tucks it behind Keene’s ear. Makes him look ridiculous. 

“Why are we here?”

Doesn’t matter now which one of them asks. They’ve already realized there won’t be a suitable answer. 

\--

When she makes it back to the Tops she slips one of the silk flowers she’s carried with her behind Benny’s ear. He laughs and asks her if she had fun. Allows herself smile, says she did. Throwing an arm over her shoulders Benny says he’s glad. 

\--

Do you ever get so weirdly compelled by an idea that you write a 10k word fanfic about it in three days? Because that’s what happened here...


	4. Wick

When she first catches a glimpse of him, shimmering past her line of sight as they cross the threshold into the lodge, Jill worries that they shouldn’t have come. They should have just stayed at home, playing King and Queen even though their positions are not yet secure. But this had been her idea, after all. 

Keene’s breathing is heavy in the corner of the room, dust from the ceiling flutters down and lands visibly on his shoulders before the stealth field recalculates to include it. Really, he is as obvious as can be. 

Benny’s hand stays at her hip, holding onto her possessively as they exchange words with Marcus. She forgets what they say even as the words are leaving her mouth. Idle chat really. Marcus doesn’t have any work for her, but if this is just a social call, they’re of course more than welcome. That doesn’t mean she misses the way Marcus looks at Benny like he’s an intruder. Benny just smiles, hand on her hip, talks with his free hand even though there’s a cigarette in it too. She’s letting hers burn out little by little. 

It’ll be a scandal for sure. As far as she knows, it already is. But she leads Benny by the hand to the room she always occupies. No one has been here. No one but him. She can smell Keene on everything. 

“So do we just start, Pussycat?” He kicks the door closed behind them. Reaching for her button-down, he starts his way at the top, coming apart button by button.

Jill closes her eyes as he undresses her, listening for what she is certain will follow. The opening and closing of the door, Keene’s heavy footfall. It doesn’t come, not at first. Her eyes open. Benny is handsome, she likes looking at him. His hands slide under the cotton to glance against her skin, over her ribcage. They’ve gotten good at this. 

Pulling him forward by the lapels of his coat, they tumble onto the mattress. She slots her legs between his while he thrusts down to meet her. 

Whispers between them, this is all in good fun. “What are you looking forward to?” she asks.

Cocking his head to one side, his smile is open. “So much, you don’t even know.”

They maneuver a bit to push the shirt from her shoulders, take the time to remove his jacket and shirt as well. He grabs at her thighs, reversing their positions so he is between her legs. Like this they grind against each other, talking all the while. 

“Want to see him submit to you. Lick you raw while I fuck you.”

Jill smiles, the talk works her up most of all. “You want his face between my legs? Getting him soaked?”

“Mmhmm.” He bites against the shell of her ear before continuing. “Want him to pull me off you in his rage, take you from me.”

“And what fun is that for you?”

“Watching you try to take that giant mutant cock, Pussycat.” His fingers squeeze at her nipples, hard enough to make her take in air. She can feel him fully erect through the layers of their slacks, pressed up against her core all the same. “I’ll suck him right after. You know how I love the taste of you.”

She laughs at their little fantasy. Their clothes can’t come away fast enough. Benny leans against the headboard, letting her climb atop him. He fits into her so well now, just the right size. The talking gets her so worked up that she’s already wet for him, for this. Riding him steadily, she makes a bit more noise than she would normally. Soft groans and pants as he strokes up into her at the same time she comes down. His teeth bite down onto one nipple.

They both hear it. She knows Benny does from the way his tongue lashes against her nipple, stops, and then he smiles before continuing. Pulling away, he starts talking again.

“You look so good with my cock in you.”

“Yeah, Benny? I’m your girl, aren’t I?”

He hums against her chest. “Like you were made for me, Pussycat. Made for my cock in your sweet little hole.”

Keene’s breathing is so loud it rings in her ears. Erratic. That danger. 

“Turn around,” Benny instructs. But when Jill gets off of him, he grabs her at her hips, rearranging them both so his legs fall off the side of the bed. She lowers back onto his erection, her back pressing to his chest. Like this, Keene will have an open view of them. Knowing this, she spreads her legs wider, groans heavier, as Benny pushes into her.

Like this she has no leverage. Instead Benny has to move her by way of grabbing her hips and bouncing her body onto his. She feels quite small, will feel smaller yet.

Stealth-boys only last so long. Burning up faster than one would think. 

Little by little, Keene comes into view.

Jill doesn’t bother to feign surprise when she sees him, pressed up against the wall in the corner, nearly trembling in rage. She holds his eyes just long enough to for him to know that she knows he’s here, not enough to disturb him. 

“Benny,” she breathes the name, so familiar now on her lips.

And with that Keene approaches, but does not attack. She had suspected something possessive, violent, instead he inches forward, little by little. Her hands reach behind her head, grabbing on to the back of Benny’s head and pressing him against her shoulders. He nips at her skin. Though her breasts are small, they jut out just a little bit like this. Maybe Keene will touch her. Maybe he’ll just keep breathing. 

Keene drops to his knees before her, staring between her legs where Benny continues to push into her, watches their movements.

“Looks like we have a visitor,” Benny is smiling against her. She can tell that well enough, knows the pattern of it. 

“I don’t care,” she bites back. 

“Really? Well, you’re in charge.” 

It doesn’t take much. Keene leans forward just a touch, his massive head between her thighs. His tongue darts out, licks against her clit just once. But she’s coming from the idea of it. Of Benny fucking her and Keene on his knees before her. They’re both submitting to her desires and the thought of that is so intense she just might burst from it. 

“You really like my cock that much?”

“Mmm, yes Benny,” she won’t say a word to Keene, not yet. 

But he buries his face against her sex. Lapping at her so hard, so frantically that she has to grab onto his shoulders to keep balance somehow. His mouth stays high, away from Benny’s cock as he continues to fuck her. Now it’s too much, she’s too sensitive from the stimulation. She comes again but it’s rapid, tight. 

“You want me to cum in you, Pussycat, fill you up so you know who you belong to?” It’s just a game, she knows as much. Benny likes her. She likes Benny. This is fun. It’s not like that.

“Yes, Benny, cum in me.”

That finally sets Keene off.

She can feel it first, the snarl against her stomach. With barely an interval between, Keene’s massive hands are around her, pulling her off of Benny with a viciousness that nearly scares her. But they both know where their pistols are. And she knows, even through this, Keene isn’t going to hurt her. Not under these conditions. Not when there are other things he wants more.

Maybe she doesn’t know it as well as she should. That might be part of the appeal. 

Suddenly empty at the loss of Benny, Jill struggles just a touch in Keene’s arms. Not enough to really fight him, but enough that she feels his strength pushing up against her. 

“What are you doing?” she questions. 

“What are you doing?” Keene repeats. 

She doesn’t have an answer for him. Because she doesn’t, he presses her down against the mattress, smothers her mouth with his. He kisses her viciously until she almost can’t breathe for it. The weight of his chest against hers, his lips giving little away. To spread around him is almost painful, as broad as he is against the narrowness of her hips. But she gets her legs around him, can’t do much else but that.

“Jill,” his voice is low, almost a whisper, the way he tucks it against her. He’s trying to keep his words from Benny. “Why are we here?”

“Because neither of you love me.”

He almost snorts, like her statement is funny. Maybe it is. For all she knows it’s hilarious. 

She closes her legs around the length of Keene’s cock, letting him slide against her. One of his hands comes to clutch her breast. Smothered as she is, surrounded by Keene, she’s not sure where Benny is. Can’t hear him breathe. Only Keene.

“You don’t want to fuck me Keene?” she taunts. “Isn’t that what this is about?”

There’s not enough lubrication on Keene’s cock or between her thighs, he can’t slide smoothly. She doesn’t mean to, but she catches his eyes. And he holds. He holds until she looks away. There’s that thrill of fear, that she may have lost control. 

“You don’t know what this is about at all,” the volume of his voice increases bit by bit with his frustration. 

“You want a girl who doesn’t exist anymore.” The way he mauls her is almost pleasant in its relentlessness. 

“I want you, Jill.”

Grabbing at her hips, he flips her over onto her stomach. His hands bat her knees apart to she’s spread open to him. Now he can’t see her eyes. She can’t catch him by accident. 

Benny is in front of her now, curled up in the bed, one hand working his erection in slow strokes, no need to rush through. Looks quite pleased with the scene before him. Truth be told, she’s pleased too. They smile at each other, a wicked thing between them. Keene must look away because Benny blows her a kiss that is charming in its absurdity. 

Two of Keene’s thick fingers work inside her, thrusting rapidly in and out of her. He’s trying to make her cum as quickly as possible. She feels full from just that. She slicks around them and the scrape fades way to just the pleasant pressure.

“Fuck,” her head drops between her arms, “Benny.”

Maybe it’s a mistake. Because Keene’s fingers are gone and it’s the head of his cock pressing against her. Not nearly lubricated enough but he thrusts forward with such possession that she falls forward, her arms giving out. She doesn’t want to scream into the sheets, show that kind of weakness. But fuck it hurts so bad at first, the way he pistons in. His hips bang against hers while he holds her ass up and in place. Like he’s forgotten that he belongs to her in a way she could never belong to him. 

A arm wraps around her torso until his hand reaches her throat. He wretches her back up like that, pulling her against his chest. The arm between her breasts is so thick that she feels encased in it. 

“Is this what you wanted?” This time he’s not speaking to her, but to Benny. His eyes he doesn’t mind holding. Jill lets hers close. This is supposed to be about her, not a transaction between men. 

“You really should keep your attention on the girl. She’s worth it.”

Keene’s other arm wraps around her as well, holding her so tight she thinks he may crush her. His fingernails dig into her hip, not quite breaking the skin. But the most delicious part is still the hand at her throat. Not squeezing, just holding, but the threat of it is enough. To push him this far and still know she can stop this. 

“Jill, tell him how good I feel in you.”

But he doesn’t, not yet. She’s only just now starting to adjust. But the words make things better. “I’m so full, Benny. He’s so big. Fuck.”

“Yeah, Pussycat? Bigger than me.”

“So much, like his cock is going to split me open.” She speaks in the seconds where she can find them.

“He looks good in you, stretching you wide like that.”

Now it feels good. Still too much, too big, too fast. With his chest against her back she’s still consumed. But the stretch of him inside her is good, welcome. His breath hot against her skin.

“I wonder,” Benny reaches forward and presses a finger to her lip. She parts them for her so it can dip inside. “Am I ever going to be enough for you once he’s wrecked you?”

“No,” she teases, licks at his finger, “never.”

She may not love Benny. But she does love his smile. 

“No!” Keene roars and snatches her back, out of Benny’s reach. It’s like he’s finally realized their little trick. The way he was played so well. “He doesn’t love you.”

“Neither do you,” her voice stays even.

With that he strokes so hard, with such desperation, that she comes apart around him. There isn’t space for anything else. But she can hear him sob as he cums into her moments later. That admission of weakness from his chest is sweetest of all. She almost feels something.

Small thrusts as he rides out his orgasm. If Keene lets go of her, she’s sure to topple over, boneless as she is. 

Keene lowers her back to the mattress, smooths out her hair. Where it has come against her sweaty skin, it’s already starting to curl. Even without him inside her she feels open, spread. Bringing her thighs together doesn’t help the sensation. 

“Jill.”

There isn’t anything else from Keene. Nothing, just her name, then silence. Then.

“Why?” He’s asking Benny, not her.

“Be more specific with your questions.” He’s already wiping away the traces of his own orgasm. It was lost somewhere in her haze. The bed is more comfortable than she remembers. 

Rolling onto her back, she scoots so she sits up against the headboard. Benny goes for her pack of cigarettes first, lights one and hands it over before attending to his own.

“Why don’t you love her?”

“We shouldn’t talk about Jill like she’s not here.” His smoke curls up to the ceiling along with hers. The cigarette is good, keeping her hands from shaking while she watches Keene at the end of the bed. 

He doesn’t say anything. And he doesn’t have a stealth-boy to hide his retreat. So they just sit there. Jill with that ache between her legs, bruises on her hips and thighs. She lights a second cigarette herself. Tilts her head; Keene is looking at her like he’s got something to say. 

“I'll make you so happy, Jill, for the rest of your life, you'll see.”

She just shakes her head. If he didn’t get up of his own volition, she may have shot him again. 

Once Benny finishes his cigarette, he throws his arm over her shoulders, pulling her close. Jill’s head drops onto his shoulder. 

“I could, you know. If you wanted it.”

“I know, Benny.” She kisses him in the mirrored place on his forehead where the bullet went through hers.


	5. Transitory

“Keene?” Jill’s feet drag against the floor, her feet transferring dust from the outside in. 

Inside the bungalow the curtains are drawn. Hazy, yellow light seeps in through the thin fabric. All of the ones in the living room match, but they’re still ugly. Paisley. She doesn’t like paisley. 

Marcus told her that the outer bungalows don’t get electricity anymore. Not for a long time. No one has bothered to keep them up, most of the Jacobstown residents prefer the Lodge. After all, they’ve come here for a sense of community. Even Keene usually takes to his room upstairs, Marcus explained. But Marcus doesn’t begrudge Keene the comforts of space either. He sighed and shook his head when Jill asked. Couldn’t imagine himself in Keene’s place. They were meant to be uniform, a perfect army, but each one of them is so vastly different. The nightkin most of all. So Marcus never pretends to know what haunts Keene.

Jill tries the lightswitch, even though there’s not supposed to be any electricity. When the lights come on, she freezes. “Keene?”

That’s not right. If he were here, she would hear his breathing. Heavy, always too loud. She’s alone. 

There’s nothing at all distinctive, except for the fact the place is well kept. She’d raided a couple of the little, low buildings before. Filled with cards and bones. None of them were terribly interesting. 

Magazines are stacked on the coffee table, glossy ones where the pages look pristine. But they aren’t new. Everyone knows there’s nothing untouched in this world. There’s nothing new, never will be again.

She doesn’t leave, instead walking from room to room. Everything is laid out like someone could live here. Unchipped dishes in the cabinets, fresh sheets on the bed. It’s an illusion of a dead world someone mocked up. That she’s been trying, futilely, to arrange in her mind too. But it’s never right.

The front door opens, Jill’s hand reaching for the grip on her pistol. But it’s only Keene, stealthed, like it makes a fuck bit of difference. She exhales and forgets about the gun. 

“What did you want?”

He shimmers from side to side, pacing the main room. When he doesn’t answer, she lights a cigarette. They shouldn’t still be caught here. It is endless and she is tired of it.

“You.”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Jill’s patience wears thin. There wasn’t much thread to begin with.

“You.” 

Grabbing her by the front of her armor, Keene lifts her off the ground. The leather pulls around her armpits, her crotch, as she’s lifted. Her first instinct is to thrash out, but she doesn’t. Instead she holds very still. Drops her cigarette too. He presses her into the sofa, sinking into the cushions as his invisible weight bears down on her. It’s too much and she feels like drowning, her fists pressing against his chest. Striking him won’t do much. Though her pistol is still at her hip, it feels very distant, the way he has her confined.

“Fuck you,” she spits.

Keene gets up so fast that she catches a glimpse of his blue skin before the stealth field can catch up to his new position. The shimmers tremble. 

The regret is heavy in his voice. No, not regret, resignation. Because Keene never thinks of her, not really, only on himself and his shortcomings. And they’ve got nothing the fuck to do with her. “I started all wrong.”

“Of course you did.” 

‘We started all wrong,’ she thinks. Because there was no right path to follow. 

“I wanted. I wanted to take you out.”

Jill furrows her brow. “Take me out?” She’s got no idea.

“Dress you up, show you off, feed you expensive crap. Bring you back home and fuck you until you scream my name.”

She laughs, “what the fuck, Keene? What the fuck do you think we are?” Because they’re nothing but two people who sometimes fuck, and neither of them have been completely honest about why. At least in Jill’s case, there is no satisfactory answer. Nothing that could make Keene feel better. 

Shaking his head, he starts again. "You like that kind of thing, right?"

He doesn't know a damn thing about her and it's never been more apparent. Jill settles back against the couch. Her cigarette has gone out on the carpet. At least they didn't burn the bungalow down. Small mercies. 

"Why is this important?" 

She pulls a fresh cigarette, the old one seems very far away. As Keene paces, he crushes it under his foot. Little by little, he rejoins the realm of the visible. Her lungs fill with smoke.

"It just is." And that's all Keene offers.

They're quiet for a long time, but Keene's feet never stop. He'll wear down the carpet, which is entirely too plush. 

"Okay." 

There's an ashtray on the end table, so she reaches for it. There are big fingerprints smudged along the crystal. It is all quite deliberate, that this place is part of the fantasy. There's nothing accidental about the curtains or the carpet, the ashtray or the magazines. The tableaux fills her with an impotent rage that's got nowhere to go. Keene wants to play house, wants to play human. Like he's forgotten they're both monsters in their own way. 

"Okay, Keene." She sets the ashtray aside. "Take me out."

"What?"

Standing from the couch, crossing the room to where she dropped her pack, she peels away the top of her leather armor. The white tee underneath isn't the nicest, but she's only been wearing it since she left the Strip this morning, doesn't even have any holes, that she can see. Rooting around in her bag, she finds a pair of jean shorts. Not like she managed to bring anything else.

Keene doesn't touch her while she strips down, exchanging the leather pants for her shorts. But he doesn't pace either. Just stares at her. That's okay. At least that's somewhat predicable. She grabs her gun off the floor, double checks the safety before sliding it into the waistband of her shorts. Letting down her hair, it's the best she can do on such short notice.

"Take me out."

"I got you a dress."

She shows her teeth, "Fuck the dress."

They stand across from one another. Jill is not afraid, even though maybe, just maybe, after all this she should be. Keene clenches his teeth. She swears she can hear it, gnashing so hard it'll make her ears bleed.

"There's no place to go and you fucking know it," he admits.

She grabs her cigarette from the ashtray, lights it again.

“Great plan, Keene.”

He takes her by the wrist, the one she doesn’t need to smoke, and leads her out into the desert. The sun is only starting to set, making the horizon hazy. The lights of New Vegas break the heat-fog in the distance. She’s more comfortable in her tee and shorts than she was in her armor. Lets her manage the heat better, keeps her sweat from sticking. 

Once outside, Keene drops her wrist. 

“Let’s walk,” he said.

There’s no reason not to. But they don’t talk. She gets through two cigarettes as they weave in between buildings, as they walk around the perimeter instead. Keene’s footfall is heavy, dull thuds against the dirt. The boots on Jill’s feet are half a size too big, even with the thick socks she managed to find. She wonders if they’re supposed to be holding hands. That doesn’t seem right.

As they circle back around to the bungalow, Jill leans against the door, knob in her hand. She lets Keene stand over her, just close enough she can feel the anxious heat roll off of him in waves. Jill’s still uncertain what this is about, exactly. Other than Keene thinks she’s the sort of woman she’s clearly not. But maybe she’s been misreading him as well. Who was he? She still doesn’t know, and it claws at her yet. Because this, this playing at being things neither of them is not, is draining. 

“Do you want to go inside? Or is that too easy for a first date?” She plays with the doorknob in her hand, twitching it from side to side.

He has to lift her up to reach her lips, dry and cracked as they are. The gun at her back rubs against the door, pressing into her flesh. It’ll leave an indentation. But his mouth is wet, consuming. She breathes in the spaces in between. It’s going both ways, really, with her arms wrapped around his thick neck and her teeth biting so hard at his lips it would make him bleed if he wasn’t like this. 

But in the end he sets her down, runs one giant hand over her hair, smoothing it down. But it’s no use, the curl has already caught up to her. 

“I want you-” he stops.

Not bothering to respond, she slides away after he’s let her feet hit the ground again. She doesn’t look back at the dollhouse his clumsy hands have arranged. Caught somewhere between make-believe and reality, Jill’s got to catch her breath before she forgets herself and the truth of their battered circumstances.


End file.
